The Good Ship Name of Ship
by Daystar Searcher
Summary: Captain Daystar Searcher and her intrepid crew of fictional characters travel throughout the FanficVerse, saving well-written characters in bad stories, harvesting adverbs, getting hijacked by Mary Sues, thwarting wrongheaded pairings, etc.
1. Chapter 1

_Fanfiction…the final frontier. These are the voyages of the good ship (Name of Ship), its continuing mission: to explore strange new fandoms; to seek out the good, the bad, the possibly redeemable, and the downright wrong; to boldly correct the grammar, punctuation, and characterization of fics that have never been corrected before! _

Captain Daystar Searcher crouched fearfully behind an outrageously scarlet canister of terribly dangerous material, which was leaning haphazardly to the right. She bellowed ferociously, "Dammit, Quark, I specifically and emphatically told you not to poke around the cargo bay! I was saving all these adverbs for something exceedingly special, but now we'll have to quickly destroy them all before they maliciously overtake the vessel!"

Quark was cowardly cowering behind yet more outrageously scarlet canisters of terribly dangerous material and did not readily reply, being far too busy cowardly cowering.

Searcher angrily slapped her comm badge. "Searcher to Carter," she fiercely snapped. "I desperately need a highly controlled techno-babble explosion in Cargo Bay Three immediately!"

"But, sir, we were saving that for--"

"There is absolutely no time to slowly and rationally discuss this, Carter," Searcher furiously cried. "I positively cannot take anymore of this hideously unrealistic dialogue and simply cannot risk the horribly risky risk of recklessly allowing this threateningly quick-spreading outbreak to pervadingly pervade my--"

Thankfully Carter did not fully wait until the end of the slowly-unraveling speech to release the techno-babble explosion. There was a stunningly bright burst of lights, and computer beeping, and then the adverbs began to decrease. Searcher sighed, and slouched against a scarlet canister, watching Quark uncoil. For the umpteenth time she regretted taking the Ferengi aboard, but what could else could she have done? Left him to languish in that hideously out-of-character Odo/Kira/Dax bondage fic? She shuddered. No, she had done the right thing. He was a well-drawn character with some good lines, and Searcher would eventually find him a decent fan fiction to relocate to. But in the meantime--

"For the record, sir, I don't think 'pervadingly' is a word," Samantha Carter said over the comm.

"Whatever," the Captain said. "Things seem to be improving here. Are you reading a drop to normal adverb levels?"

"Aye, aye, sir," Carter replied. She gave a delicate cough. "Actually, Captain, since we've just lost our reserve adverbs, I was thinking…there's a Jack O'Neill fanfic just a few files away, lots of angsty inner monologue stuff with witty quips, and I think it could really reach its potential with a little adverb pruning, and"--

"And while we're in the neighborhood we might as well drop you in the plotline as his love interest," Searcher finished. "I'd hate to lose my reigning techno-babble expert, but you make a good point, Carter. Send the files over to my office and I'll see how many adverbs we stand a chance of harvesting. See if you can find coordinates for me to pick up another techno-babble expert and their techno-babble supply while you're at it." She paused a moment. "Oh, and send Parody Worf down here to get Quark."

Parody Worf was her current security chief and was not, in fact, from a parody, but from one of the most ill-advised forays into Jadzia/Worf fan fiction that the captain had ever encountered. Not to mention the worst-spelled. She'd been forced to use the (Name of Ship)'s Eraser on the whole thing, even firing bursts of White-Out torpedos. The really resilient parts had required the Delete Button. And yet she had saved Worf. Even a well-written Worf was never--in Daystar's opinion--very far from absurdity, and this one, well…his author had unwittingly created one of the funniest characters in the universe, and Searcher just knew there was a parody out there for him somewhere.

She turned to the cause of all this trouble, who was only now standing up and brushing himself off. He turned what was apparently his idea of a winning smile towards her. Holy Mother of Joss Whedon, he needed to floss. "Now, Captain, do you really think security is nec--"

"Save it," Searcher growled. "I'm having Parody Worf confine you to quarters." She cut off his protest. "Oh, and if you ever--and I do mean ever--do anything remotely like that again, I will chop you up into punctuation marks and drop you in a steamy Beckett/Mercer fic. Do I make myself clear?"

From the ghastly green tinge of his face, she suspected she had.


	2. Chapter 2

An hour later, Captain Searcher called her senior staff meeting to order. Other than her chief of security, who would be steadfastly guarding Quark unless distracted by a fight or yet another chance to try to prove his honor, everyone was there. In the background, an attractive woman in a miniskirt walked past.

"What was that?" Searcher asked.

"What?" Chief Engineer Carter said. "I didn't notice anything."

"Maybe because you were too busy staring at that picture of Jack O'Neill? Honestly, Sam, you'll be with him soon enough. What about you guys?"

"Can't look now, I'm almost to Level Three," Ship's Surgeon Dr. House said, tapping away furiously at his Gameboy, feet up on the table. "You don't want the princess to die, do you, you heartless monster?"

"I'm kind of keeping my eyes on the controls," Wash said as he piloted. "Speaking of which, what kind of conference room has the piloting station in it?"

"The narratively convenient kind that doesn't require the author to figure out who's driving the ship when our main pilot's in here," Searcher snapped. "Pyro? Vetinari? Gay Vetinari? Poorly Researched Type of Crazy Detective Goren?"

"Sorry," Pyro said. And then, "Oh crap!" The young mutant tried to discreetly beat out the small fire he'd accidentally set on Vetinari's cloak.

"I'm afraid I saw nothing," Vetinari said, taking the time to raise an eyebrow at Pyro. "And Gay Vetinari? Make even one crack about me being 'flaming' and I will see to it that the Assassin's Guild inhumes you at the earliest possible opportunity."

"Being in slash fanfiction doesn't make me any less Vetinari than you," the other retorted frostily, offering a mirror eyebrow. "I will not start making puns, or watching mimes, or applauding modern art."

Poorly Researched Type of Crazy Detective Goren was too busy huddled in a corner moaning to respond.

"Fine," Searcher said. "I probably imagined it."

In the background, an attractive woman in a miniskirt walked past.

"No, there it is again!" the captain shouted. "Dammit, Carter, I thought you screened those last files we downloaded from the _Star Trek: TNG_ fandom!"

Sam Carter looked up from her picture of Jack. "Oh. Um. Um, really, sir, I'm sorry, I thought the firewall would keep them out--they're only prevalent from the first to the third season, so I didn't think--"

"Just get rid of them as soon as you can, okay?" Daystar Searcher shook her head and settled into her seat. "They're damn annoying. Not to mention sexist and pointless. So--first order on the agenda--this morning's little incident in the cargo bay and its aftermath. Carter's found us a good place for some adverb pruning, a nice little oneshot with potential called _Love's Labors Make Epic Fail. _However, as she's requested a transfer there, we're going to need to pick up a new techno-babble expert first to fill her place. Carter, do you have the list?"

"Yessir." The engineer was all business now, attempting to make up for her earlier distraction. "I've narrowed it down to three distinct possibilities. The first is a Rodney McKay from a novella of a fic called _Pride Before the Fall. _He only appears in three chapters, basically as a comic relief from the rest of the plot, which seems to center around Elizabeth Weir making a lot of uncharacteristically stupid decisions, including sleeping with Sheppard, and then Ronon, and then Teyla. And then all three at once. If we stop there, we can probably harvest some more adverbs from the love scenes to tide us over till _Love's Labors Make Epic Fail._"

"Good, good," Searcher murmured. "Downsides?"

"Well, for a McKay his techno-babble supply could be better. At least a quarter of the time the author's just randomly making up words and hoping no one notices."

"That could be a problem," Vetinari agreed. "Besides, even with our filter calibrated at maximum strength a great deal of the smut could seep through."

"And we all know what happened last time," Gay Vetinari agreed with a shudder.

"The best forty-eight hours of my life," Pyro said with a dreamy look.

"Oh, right, you were in the room with the thirteen superfluous Orion slave girls we'd confiscated from the original Star Trek stories," Gay Vetinari said. "While I was trapped in a room with Lwaxana Troi…and not a Gay Vimes anywhere on the ship to ease my pain…"

"You're slipping into stereotype again!" Vetinari snapped. "And how you could even think of Vimes that way--"

"Aaaand we're off-topic again," Wash cut in. "Twenty seconds flat. Seriously, guys, we need to stop that."

"Damn right," Searcher said. "Carter, the second option?"

"There's a hideously saccharine collection of drabbles entitled _See Spot Run _not too far off. You'll probably have to bring the cat along if you don't want Data to collapse sobbing on the spot, but he's got the finest supply of high-grade techno-babble I've seen in quite some time. No excess adverbs to harvest, but we could skim some fluff before we torch the fic."

"Lord knows we could use that," Searcher said with a grimace in Poorly Researched Type of Crazy Detective Goren's direction. "That man is producing enough angst all by himself to eat all of our current fluff alive."

The man in question let out a heart-wrenching sob. "Mommy…Mommy…don't let Daddy hit me…oh please, God, no, not Alex…Alex, how could I let you die?"

"Could somebody please gag the Mental Gentle Giant?" House snapped, his eyes still fixed on the screen. "He's breaking my concentration."

"You're not helping the fluff situation any, Mr. Snark," Wash said.

"My heart bleeds."

"I really, really hope that's not literal," the captain said. "Especially after that case you solved last week. Okay, last option?"

"Well, I know Wash was hoping I'd find a good Kaylee so he'd have some company from _Firefly, _but all of the good ones were in equally good stories that I couldn't justify her removal from. Eventually, however, I found a humorous and well-written pre-coming-out Willow Rosenberg, right at the point where she knew some magic but was still strongest with her computer skills. Her techno-babble's strictly twentieth century, but her ability to perform spells could make up for that."

"And our removal justification…?" Searcher asked.

"Pre-emptive strike. _Life's a Witch_ only has four chapters so far, but it's hinted that the Giles and Xander characters are going to go completely out of character and assault her."

"Alex!" Poorly Researched Type of Crazy Detective Goren shrieked.

"Carter, why have you not acronym-ized this guy yet?"

"Sorry, sir, I'll do that straight away."

"Good. His name's getting really annoying. Okay, moving on, I don't see a need to cut all adverbs yet but I'd like to set forth a strict rationing program--"

"Captain!" Wash interrupted. "Message coming in, emergency frequency!"

"What?" There was only one person who knew the (Name of Ship)'s emergency frequency code. But she was supposed to be on a routine mission… "On screen!"

The viewscreen crackled to life, images flitting across interspersed with bits of static. And then, suddenly, a voice cried out--

"The lyrics! The lyrics! Sweet Merciful Mother of Joss Whedon, they're everywhere! Hel--"

And then there was nothing.

"Sir?" Wash looked towards the captain in puzzlement, and saw that her face was ghostly white and her hands trembling. After that trite and overused cliché had passed, she spoke.

"Crew--our original mission has been temporarily put on hold. We have a rescue mission to undertake. Our sister ship (Other Ship's Name) has been trapped--in a songfic."


	3. Chapter 3

PRTOCDG was hooked up to a machine, whimpering. A strange fiery liquid rushed through the tubes connected to his body and collected in the Angst Shield Generator.

"Carter?" Searcher asked.

"Yessir?"

"Who is that?"

"You mean in the machine, sir?" Carter said. "That's Poorly Researched Type of Crazy Detective Goren. You did ask me to acronymize him."

"Oh, right." The captain turned to the pilot. "How are we for time, Wash?"

"Three minutes before we make the incredibly stupid decision to enter the Songfic Expanse. Sir."

"This better work," Searcher muttered to herself.

"Oh, it will, sir," Carter assured her. "Dr. House has been siphoning off PRTOCDG's angst for weeks to keep him from collapsing into a pile of intensifiers and nightmarish imagery. We definitely have enough to beam over to the (Other Ship's Name) so they can bolster their shield. And as we approach the Songfic Expanse, its inherent emotional content spurs him to produce even more angst at even greater speeds, which we can draw off to power our own Angst Shield. At its current strength, we could fight off the most heart-breaking of lyrics for months."

"But the fluff situation is grim."

"Well, that is true, sir. With reserves depleted as they are now, if we stay more than five paragraphs in the Expanse a breach is inevitable. We could be combing saccharine jingles out of our hair for weeks."

Daystar Searcher shuddered at the thought. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that." She cast another sidelong glance at PRTOCDG, who was twitching and moaning. "I must confess I've never understood the principles behind these shields. Shouldn't angst just attract more angst, and fluff more fluff?"

"Not all at, sir. It's like magnets. Two north ends will repel each other, but a north and a south end create an irresistible attraction. Songs about pain and loss will bounce right off our detective's traumatic thoughts, whereas any happy lovey-dovey songs will in fact be drawn in. Wash and myself have tried to engage in cheerful banter to bolster the Fluff Shield, but I'm afraid we've both been too busy to get it up past fifty-six percent strength."

"Well, that's better than nothing." Search paused. "Carter?"

"Yessir?"

"That was an awful lot of techno-babble you used just now. Will we still have enough to beam the canisters over to the (Other Ship's Name) and then escape the Songfic Expanse ourselves?"

"Oh, don't worry. I utilized the auxiliary techno-babble supply in conjunction with our explanatory dialogue reserves. The main supply remains untouched."

"Good. Wait a minute--what about those two sentences you just said?"

"They were also explanatory dialogue, and therefore used the auxiliary supply. But I should warn you, sir, if we continue this line of conversation, we will eventually tap that out."

"So noted. Excellent work, Carter. It'll be a sad day when we lose you, no matter how good your replacement is."

Sam blushed. "Thanks, sir. I will miss you all, but I love Jack. He completes me in a way I never thought possible, and I want to spend the rest of my textual life with him."

"Fluff Shield up to sixty percent, sir," Pyro reported.

Searcher grinned. "Nice work again, Sam."

The moment could have been milked for even more fluff, but it was right then that Wash announced, "Songfic Expanse coming up."

It was an impressive sight. Here lyrics swirled and bounced exuberantly through space, there they dipped and twisted languidly. Musical notes surged throughout, smashing and exploding against each other. The text itself fought desperately for space, assaulted on all sides by the force of the songs.

What had possessed the captain of the (Other Ship's Name) to enter this place? Daystar wondered. True, there was more harvestable emotion than you could shake a stick at, but that could backfire into emotional overload in a second, burning out your engines and stranding you. Even if you managed to avoid that, there was still the threat of angst and fluff breaches, the terrible risk of cliché infestation, and the ever present possibility of being ruthlessly italicized.

She took a deep breath. "Okay, Wash. Take us in, slowly. Carter, keep an eye on PRTOCDG and our shields. Pyro, the second the sensors pick up a sign of the (Other Ship's Name), let me know."

The (Name of Ship) edged into the Songfic Expanse. The lyrics jostled the ship a bit, but not uncomfortably.

"Angst Shield holding strong," Carter reported. "Fluff Shield wavering, but holding at fifty-eight percent."

"So far, so good," Searcher murmured. She tapped her comm badge. "Captain Searcher to Dr. House, are you three in place?"

"No, we're in a casino surrounded by strippers," the doctor snapped. "Oh, wait, that's where I was before you edited me out of my story and onto this ship."

"We've been over this," Searcher said. "You were due to get AIDS in three chapters, and then enter into a terribly maudlin relationship with Honey. The important thing to know now is that you and the Vetinaris are onsite to alert us in case of fluff breaches."

"The second I begin to entertain thoughts of a less than cold and ruthless nature, I assure you I will let you know," Vetinari said. "As will my homosexual counterpart and the good doctor."

"There had just better be a good PWP in this for me, for endangering my snark," House grumbled. "Witty jerks don't grow on trees, you know. That would be fruit, children. Like Gay Vetinari, but with seeds and Vitamin C."

Captain Searcher was about to comment that in fact, in fiction amusing assfaces did kind of grow on trees, when Pyro suddenly sat up straight and shook his greasy hair out of his face. "Sir! We've got something in Sector J-12!"

Immediately the captain was at his side, peering at the screen. Could it be? It was hard to tell at this distance, but the textual disturbance was roughly the right size…

"Take us in, Wash."

"Taking us in closer to our imminent doom, sir."

They drew closer and closer, until they could see the bow of the (Other Ship's Name) clearly through the lyrics--and then suddenly, the (Name of Ship) began to pull away.

"Wash!"

"It's not me, Captain! I mean, it's clearly someone with the common sense to want us out of here, but it's not me!"

"Uh, sir…"

They all turned to look at Carter, who was hunched over PRTOCDG. The poor man was shaking so much he looked like he was about to fall apart, tears streaming down his face and soaking his shirt. "Eames…Alex…she had pretty eyes and a nice smile and she was nice to me and I killed her…I'm not like my mommy…I'm not like my daddy…Nononononononononooooo…."

"What's going on?" Searcher demanded.

"I'm not sure," Sam said, frantically checking the equipment. "This area must have especially angsty lyrics, he's overloading the machine, pouring too much juice into the shields--he's actually beginning to push us out--"

"Are we within beaming range?"

"Yes, but PRTOCDG's burning through the techno-babble for the Angst Shield so fast that after that we'd have none left to get out of here ourselves!"

"Trust me," Wash said, eyeing his console. "In thirty seconds, not a problem!"

"They made me hurt you!" PRTOCDG howled. "I never wanted to, but they made me, they whispered dark and bad and angry things all day all day all day all day all night, they made me cut you up and hurt you but I didn't want to!"

"Do it now!" Searched ordered.

Carter released the remaining techno-babble, and the excess canisters of angst disappeared in a shimmering transporter beam. PRTOCDG let us a heart-rending scream of despair, and the (Name of Ship) was catapulted from the Songfic Expanse. All the characters were tossed across the bridge, slamming into walls and chairs.

"I swear to Gene Roddenberry," the captain muttered as she picked herself off the floor. "I will install seatbelts on this ship if it kills me, respect for canon and continuity regarding standard Starfleet ships be damned. Wash, where the hell are we?"

Silence.

"Wash?"

Daystar surveyed the wreckage and the unresponsive bodies. "Oh, Mulder-Phloxxing hell," she said, and then slapped her comm badge. "Searcher to House, medical emergency on the bridge, I need you here now! And don't even think about complaining about that leg, or I'll--"

"I'll be right there," House said. "Oh God, are they okay?"

"I can't tell, I don't even have your author's faked medical expertise, so--wait, did you just show sincere concern for their well-being?"

"Of course I did," Greg House said with a chilling lack of sarcasm and a boyish smile she could hear even over the comm. "I've realized, finally, just how selfish it is to put my own pain above that of others, especially to those who have been as kind and tolerant of my behavior as all of you have."

"A moving speech," came Vetinari's voice from his comm channel. "But I understand how difficult it must have been to work past all that pain, especially given your great genius. I am prepared to offer you a lucrative position as my chief physician."

"And I will personally speak to either Cameron, Stacy, or Cuddy on your behalf," Gay Vetinari said. "Extolling your personal virtues and persuading them to see the sweeter, gentler you beneath your harsh exterior…an exterior that they could easily melt if they would only try, and release you into one of their sweet embraces, to grow old together with your loving children and multiple pets."

"I take it there's been a fluff breach?" Searcher said wearily.

"Indeed there has," Vetinari said. "You know what could be even more rewarding than being a powerful and merciless dictator? Opening an orphanage for kittens."

"What a capital idea!" Gay Vetinari said.

"I do not have time for this," Searcher muttered. "Look, House, just get your crippled ass down here, and--who the hell are you?"

This last comment was directed at the legion of amazingly attractive young women suddenly flooding the bridge. Their hair shone, their eyes sparkled, and their outfits were exquisitely tailored to flatter their divine figures. They moved through the control panels with brisk purpose and unmatchable grace, effortlessly refilling the adverb and techno-babble levels, healing the wounded, redecorating the ship…

"Let me treat those bruises," one of them, a honey-blonde cutie with lustrous green eyes clearly filled with intelligence said in a voice like music. "Sit down and hold still."

Inexplicably, the captain found herself obeying. You just had to trust these people. So capable and right and dependable…

So strangely familiar…

"Wait--how did you get onboard?" Searcher asked.

"It will never be adequately explained," the young woman said. "Just sit back…relax…we'll take care of everything…"

"But--the (Name of Ship)'s a complicated plot device," Searcher said as the woman pressed a tranquilizer hypospray into her neck. "You'll need…training…"

"Oh, we know everything," the girl said confidently. "We do it all: medical, engineering, command, away missions--and we'll never break a sweat or a nail doing it. We always look absolutely gorgeous, save the day, and get the guy. We--"

"Oh…shit…" Searcher said as the drugs took effect. "Hijacked by a bunch of…Mary Sues…"


	4. Chapter 4

Meanwhile, on the (Other Ship's Name), Captain Auri Mynonys was not giving up on her Chief of Security just yet, though Susan Sto Helit was mixed up 'bout as a girl can get. Susan was spinning around and around, right 'round, baby, right round. Plus she would just not stop slamming screen doors, sneaking out late, tapping on windows—

"Where the hell did the screen doors come from, anyway?" the captain demanded. "I'm pretty sure we don't have screen doors on starships."

Chief Medical Officer Grima Wormtongue shrugged as best he could while wrestling Susan down and sedating her. "Songfics follow a logic all their own. I wouldn't have thought they'd stick to Sto Helit at all. She's tough, capable, no-nonsense—seemingly very little purchase for either fluff or angst."

"She was in the critical zone for over an hour," Mynonys said quietly. "She saved us all from the worst of the breaches—worked tirelessly to keep the leaks contained, never thinking of herself—she always put the ship first, and now, if she can't be repaired, I—I don't know if I can ever forgive myself—" She coughed. "Anyway, if you can't do anything for her right now, I need this excess angst siphoned out of my system. Searcher transported the damn canisters practically into my lap."

"At least that the new angst is managing to block that blasted 'death metal,'" Cutler Beckett said, entering the room as Grima complied with the captain's request. "Mr. Maul appeared to be rather enjoying himself, but I generally select musical compositions that don't make my ears bleed and my soul scream for mercy." He elected to lounge on one of the medical beds, his well cut waistcoast hanging dashingly off his frame _'cause every girl's crazy for a sharp dressed man—_"Mercer!"

Mercer slashed the lyrics to pieces, musical notes and vocals bouncing discordantly off the sick bay walls. Captain Mynonys pinched the bridge of her nose and tried very hard to remember that he was the most well-drawn and complex portrait of the character she had found, and not worthy of being dropped in the middle of an atrociously spelled naval battle. "Holy Sword of Tolkien, Mercer, would you _stop _doing that every time he asks you?"

Mercer's face remained impassive. "I wouldn't be in character if I did."

"I knew I should have edited down your loyalty when I had some free time," Auri grumbled. "Look, you _know _that just makes it harder to clean up later. I do not want to be inserting Syndrome and Mirage into a tense battle scene and suddenly have random shards of 'I Will Remember You' showering down amid the laser beams!"

"My apologies, Madam Captain," Beckett said smoothly. "Mercer was merely following my orders. I shall abstain from such in the future."

"But sir," Mercer protested, "your safety—"

"Is not in undue peril. If you'd been paying attention to what I've been telling you about the captain's secret journals, you'd know that she values my sexy voice far too much to let anything unfortunate occur to my person."

"You read my journals?!"

"I'm a villain, my dear captain. Spying, deceit, manipulation...I'm afraid it's all rather _de rigueur._"

Auri Mynonys had to admit that the affairs of the ship might run more smoothly if she had fewer weekly plots of a dastardly nature among her own crew to foil. But she certainly couldn't entrust villain-placement to Searcher—the philistine froze them in carbonite and locked them in the brig, for the love of George Lucas—besides, having to stay a few steps ahead of most of her crew kept her on her toes, and when it came to genius, the side of "truth, justice, and the American way" just couldn't cut the mustard. Hell, it couldn't even find the mustard if you tied it to a chair, alligator-clipped its mouth open, and poured the contents of the bottle down its throat until it choked to death.

Still, she did _not _have time to deal with this right now.

"Teatime?" she said sweetly, knowing that though unseen, he would be somewhere nearby. It was a creepy but surprising useful trait.

"Here, Captain!" The Assassin tumbled through the opening of an air duct.

"Go play with Mr. Mercer and Mr. Beckett in your quarters, would you?"

"Oh, good!" He rocked back and forth on his heels, his glass eye swiveling in excitement as his golden curls bounced_ gold...it makes the world go round..._without even looking he trapped the lyric in a containment jar. "I have new knives and I've been reading all sorts of exciting things about dismemberment and the velocity of blood through veins—"

"Non-fatal playing, Teatime," she warned.

"Oh, they wouldn't die! Well...not right away..." he still looked hopeful.

"Why don't you just demonstrate the techniques to them on that Eomer you snagged from the Eomer/Eowyn incest fic we torched last week? The one where Aragon got jealous and raped Eomer and then there was the whole m-preg situation? Don't try to look surprised, I know you keep at least one poor characterization from each job to practice on."

As Beckett and Mercer trailed unwillingly after the madman, Captain Mynonys turned back to Grima. "I still think he and Susan can make it."

"With all due respect, sir, neither of them is interested. At all."

"But they'd be so cute!" Auri protested. "They go together like doo-wop doo-wop a ramma-damma ding dong! It's inevitable, like trains on a track, like spokes inside a wheel, involuntary motion like rolling downhill, and there's no way to stop it, when you fall in—" she managed to catch herself. "I hope Syndrome and Mirage are actually working on getting us out of here and not just generating more UST. With Susan in this condition and Sarah and Jareth trapped in a musical 'Magic Dance' loop we're ridiculously short-handed, and my life plan does not include this amount of Kelly Rowland."

"We can but hope, anyway," Grima said, grimacing. "As far as Susan goes, the damage may be irreversible. I'll know better when I can examine her in a secure and clean location, but it's a difficult condition to fully understand—"

_Never understood the way I was supposed to feel/Is this love for real?_

Grima raised his voice. "So for now I can't predict anything, but any treatment would likely contain several steps—"

_1, you're like a dream come true/2, just wanna be with you/3, 'cause it's plain to see..._

Grima swatted the lyrics out of the way irritably. "That one didn't even bother to spell out the numbers! And might I just add that we wouldn't be half so vulnerable to the love songs if you didn't insist on stocking your crew with your favorite pairings, nor would I have to turn the other way every time Jareth and Sara French-kiss!"

"Oh, really?" Mynonys's voice was deceptively calm, with an undercurrent of steel. Time to remind him who was in charge. "Would you like me to edit your wife into a Faramir/Eowyn fanfic when we get out of here, then? I know where I can find half a dozen prospects on short notice, and it'll certainly be easier than finding a decent Grima/Eowyn fic for you to relocate to."

"No!"

"Or if I really wanted to twist the knife I'm sure there are fem-slashers out there who'd just love an Eowyn for their Arwen, despite the fact that the two never meet in the story. And there's always Galadriel."

"You wouldn't!"

"Do you have any idea how many homoerotic overtones we have gathering dust in storage? I don't have any slash 'ships, and if we don't use them for something soon the situation is going to become untenable. Their leaking is already becoming a nuisance—didn't you catch the innuendo in my comment about Teatime taking Beckett and Mercer to their quarters and playing with them?"

"I'll—I'll find you some Garak/Bashir fics, I promise! You like those two! We can unload the overtones there!" The man was on his knees. "Please, please, I'll do anything if you find us a home together—it doesn't even have to be a good one, you can put us in one with us speaking in slang and using modern plumbing and or even that one where the author typed 'he's' in the title inside of 'his'—"

Mynonys took mercy on him. "Get up, Grima, you know groveling like that only inspires people to write Eowyn as a dominatrix." When he continued blubbering pathetically, she sighed and hauled him to his feet. "Look, I have no plans to separate the two of you. But three members of my crew are incapacitated, most of the others would have no qualms about taking this opportunity to seize control, the (Name of Ship) is probably far too damaged to mount another rescue attempt, and we are all _this close_ to being italicized in the middle of some trite and overplayed pop ballad—so this is _not_ the time to question my authority or my decisions. Got that?"

Grima sniffled. "Yessir. I'll try my best to fix Susan so she can assist, sir."

"Good." She released him, turning towards the window and staring into the malevolent maelstrom. "I will get us out of here, Wormtongue," she said determinedly. "I will get us out."

_Who let the dogs out?/Who? Who?_

"Damn it!"


	5. Chapter 5

Daystar Searcher stumbled. What the Phloxx…? She felt disoriented, as though plot events that she _knew_ had just transpired had in fact taken place months and months ago, as though…

"Well, that's that," Mary Sue #31, a vivacious brunette who preferred to go by the name Anastasia Marie von Raffenstein Goren, announced cheerfully. "We've successfully cleared the Update Limbo Nebula and have plotted a storyline directly towards the climax. Is there anything else you need done?"

"No, just…just go away. Please." Okay, the Mary Sues had gotten them out of Update Limbo, and were useful for navigating around the occasional inconvenient realism-based asteroid, the captain would admit that. But that didn't change the fact that they had hijacked _her_ goddamn ship.

Plus, Anastasia Marie von Raffenstein Goren? What, was "Pretty Pretty Princess OMG Bobby's So Hawt" taken?

"Are you sure?" Anastasia's big blue eyes were filled with concern and deep compassion. Looking into them, Daystar felt her resolve begin to crumble. Why couldn't she break down her protective walls and let this caring, talented girl in? This beautiful, inspiring girl who had worked past her own tremendous pain at her parents' death, who had tirelessly fought back against a disease all the doctors had assured her would be her end, who had graduated Starfleet Academy at the tender age of fourteen, who had single-handedly defeated Voldemort with the pure strength of her heart, who had seen the scared little boy inside the megalomaniacal Joker and taught him to love, who had resurrected Harvey Dent and Cyclops and Shepherd Book and—

Thankfully, the list of Mary Sue #31's accomplishments was so long that by the time Searcher was done mentally listing them, said Mary Sue had wandered off to heal the entire planet of Bajor from its sixty years of brutal occupation in which it was strip-mined, polluted, and genocided.

"Genocided isn't a verb, sir," Carter helpfully pointed out.

"I know," the captain snapped. "I just—her effect's only just starting to wear off, and I have all these incorrect verbs and awkwardly unrealistic sexual terms floating around in my head, and—Holy Mother of Chris Carter, I'm disoriented. Wait, have you been here this whole time? Or did you just come in?"

"The narration leaves it pretty unclear, sir."

"Fan-Faramir-tastic," Searcher muttered. "Okay, next question that I just know I'm going to regret asking. How did we suddenly get from you all lying prone on the bridge to Anastasia von Oooh I Want to Give Myself a Sophisticated Sounding Name trying to get me to talk about my feelings?"

"Well, we emerged from the Update Limbo at an indeterminate point after the last plot event, allowing the Mary Sues to take over the ship with even less resistance than they would have had with all of us but you incapacitated."

"Damn. For all we know, Mynonys could be dead by now, or fully incorporated into the chorus of a Justin Timberlake song! We've got to…we've got to…" Searcher's eyes widened in sudden distress before narrowing as she turned on her chief engineer. "Why am I having trouble thinking of realistic plot devices, Carter?"

Carter avoided her gaze. "They, um…they dumped them all, sir. Said they took too long." She plunged ahead. "We do have a lot of _deus ex machina_s_, _sir. I know you don't like to use them—"

"Damn right I don't! Come on, Carter, you know how much disbelief we have to suspend to use those! You told me yourself that our suspension system was shot after our rescue attempt on that Janeway/Neelix smutfic!"

"Why did we try to rescue that, anyway?"

"The grammar was flawless. They used semi-colons correctly, their definition of 'bemuse' was accurate, there wasn't a single instance of confusion of 'your' and 'you're…' We'd just spent seven weeks wading through typos and homophone confusion in that SVU fic, and—" Searcher broke off at the skeptical expression on Sam's face. "All right, all right, I traded a rescue mission for a ban on future Dukat/Kira 'ship from the same author. Deals with the devil and lesser of two evils and all that. So!" She rapidly changed the subject. "What about that suspension system?"

"Fully repaired by the Mary Sues along with the rest of the ship. It's operating far above maximum efficiency, sir."

"Alright, then, I'll consider it. Now, I need to know the situation with the rest of the crew. Wash?"

"….compromised."

"How so?"

"He's alive, Zoe's not around, they're Mary Sues…it's not rocket science. Sir."

"Pyro?"

"The limits of unfortunate puns that can be made from the word 'hot' are being extensively plumbed this very minute."

"Vetinari? House? PRTOCDG?"

"Well, Vetinari is surrounded by sophisticated, black-clad political masterminds who understand the cool exterior he has to project yet know the burning passion that roils beneath. House is beset by hauntingly beautiful and mysterious medical prodigies with dark pasts healing both his leg and his broken heart. And PRTOCDG is…multitasking."

"Multitasking?"

"The Mary Sues are visiting him in the mental hospital to cure his poorly researched and often unspecified condition, comforting him over the deaths in his family, helping him realize the true meaning of Christmas, opening his heart to love, demonstrating that Eames never deserved him anyway, marrying him, making love to him, cuddling with him, defending him to Captain Ross, having his children, discovering his mother never actually died and then curing her schizophrenia, getting fucked bent over the interrogation room table and his work desk, buying him puppies, inspiring him to lose weight, helping him find long-lost nephew, and receiving Medals of Honor alongside him."

Daystar raised an eyebrow that would've done both Spock and Scully proud. "All at once?"

"Yessir."

"Did he grow extra hands?"

"They may have written some in for him. Speaking of physical features, they also wrote him a huge—"

"Aaaaaand I know exactly where that sentence is going and I really don't want to waste explanatory dialogue on that. Anyway, everybody does that. Let's bring the conversation back to something wholesome, like planning our mutiny. We at least have Gay Vetinari, right?"

"Um, no. They rewrote him to be bisexual and he fell under their sway."

"Please don't tell me we're down to…"

"Yessir. Quark and Parody Worf."

"Roddenberry help us all."


	6. Chapter 6

"HONNNNNNNNNNNNERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

The first strategy meeting was not going well.

"HONNER! IT IS MY REESIN FOUR IKZISTINS! ALSO JADZA! BUT SHE IS DED! AND ALL I HAVE IS MY HONNER."

Parody Worf strode furiously around Carter's quarters, brandishing his bat'leth and a half-eaten targ carcass. Quark was huddled under the couch, trying desperately to shield his sensitive ears from the Capslock.

"MUTINIE IS DISHONNERABLE. WITHOUT JADIA MY HART IS LIKE THE BODDY OF A MUTALATED VULKIN, LEAKING BLOOD AND PUS AND INTESTINES AND HELD TOGETHUR ONLY BY THE THOUGHT OF MY HONNIR."

"Actually, Worf, I'm pretty sure Vulcan bodies aren't held together by honor, strictly speaking—" Carter tried to interject, but it was pointless.

"HONNER HONNER HONNNNNERRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!"

"We get it, Worf!" Captain Searcher shouted. "We get it, okay? Now shut up before I consign you to the Depths of Unwritten Fanfiction, like explicit Eames/Wheeler fem-slash!"

"No ones writes that?" Quark asked in disbelief, uncurling slightly. He licked his lips in what he apparently believed to be a sensual manner, rubbing his ears suggestively. "Now that's a damn shame. Ohhh…such a shame."

"Yeah, the fem-slash for Criminal Intent is entirely dominated by Barek/Eames, so—"

"I FEER NUTHING BUT DISHONNNOR!"

"Oh, really?" Searcher asked. She advanced slowly. "Not even, say…the Star Trek reboot?"

"IT HAS NO HONNER!!!!!!!!!!"

_Must…resist…urge…to delete…character…shit, there's…an infestation…of…extraneous…ellipses…must…have come…from…the Bobby Goren…character….must…stop….introspection….before…bogged down…for all…eternity…_

Making a mental note (which took another thirty seconds) to track down the now creepily cheerful Doctor House and get him to prescribe something against the ellipses infestation, the captain moved on. "Yes, yes, I'm sure it has no honor," she soothed. "But you must noticed how popular it's become in the fanfiction world. So many pairings, so many scenarios, so many new possibilities for adventure—say, did that movie even have _any _Klingons in it?"

"it is there losses!" Parody Worf declared adamantly, but he had dropped out of Capslock and Searcher could see the beginnings of worry sneaking onto his face.

"Maybe, maybe," Searcher said, affecting an air of carelessness. "Still, all those new fans…and all those old fans, coming out of the woodwork, finally able to share their passion without being judged—we're crawling through the FanficVerse at Warp Two and we hit a new narrative every ten minutes—when was the last time we stumbled across a new TNG or DS9 fic? Let alone a Jadzia/Worf one."

"they're our drabblesive seen them it was sad and prettie"

"Two drabbles. Wow. I think new!Scotty and that nameless little green dude have more fic than you."

"DONOT DISHNNIR ME WITH YOU'RE LYES!!!!"

"Just telling it like it is, Worf. You think those Mary Sues care about you? You think they'll find you a nice fic to relocate to? Well—"

"they proofed themselfs in BATTEL ugenst u so now i oh them my ulleejince"

"And that's exactly the kind of shoddy characterization that keeps you from getting placed," Daystar said reprovingly. "Look, soon enough the popularity will trickle down to the other series and I'll find the right fic for you. But the Mary Sues? They'll dump you in the alternate timeline the first chance they get. Or else edit out all your dialogue and keep you here with them forever."

"IAM LOAL TO JAZZDIA! I WILLNOT SECKS THEM!"

"You won't have any choice. They'll completely rewrite you."

"NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!! it is a fate wurs then deth to betrae my belovvved beecuz of the dissonner—i must not dishonur hir memery beecus than iwill hav no hon--"

"If the next word coming out of your mouth is 'honor,' I am going to—going to—do something to make you lose your honor. Again. Now that we're all agreed, it's time for the actual planning. So!" She turned to Carter, who was muttering physics equations under her breath in a desperate bid to retain her sanity in the midst of the horrible mutilation of the English language. "Have you found a suitable _deus ex machina _for our purposes?"

The engineer nodded enthusiastically, tapping her PADD to bring up the relevant information. "I think our best bet is a tragically unstoppable illness. The Sues won't be able to resist—it's one of their favorite plot points—and if we incorporate enough realism into the illness' portrayal, it should form a protective shielding around their bodies, limiting the corrupting effect of their prose and preventing their resurrection."

Worf suddenly began to laugh. Oh! Oh! Oh! (thiss is how he laffs) "wee is talkin abot fanfikshun ina faanfic haha it iz lulz and CLEVAR",

"worff u need to shut yer piehole rite now", sad the captin "oh shit, carter, wut the frock is hapning to me?"???

_Badd…speling..hurrrtz…eyes…maek it…stap…shite…ullispses…agin…_

"!!!!" sed carter, hiz spelling chequer shots must notbe uptodate. Nuthin is nutralizing the misspelllingggg vyris in his system and& now it haz spred two us."

"wholly fucking muther of jesper ford!" exklamed the capten. "how our whee supposed too mownt a mutiny liiek this?"

"i reely dont no"

!!!!

!!!!

1111!!!!!

(oh, & quark didnt mind the misspelling vieris becos he fownd cartir's pron and was having funn lukkin at it ha hahaha)

!!!!


	7. Chapter 7

"Goddamnit, as if we didn't have enough to deal with—" Searcher paused. "Wait. What happened to all the misspellings? I thought we were infected with a virus?"

"Techically a 'vyrus,' sir." Carter consulted her tricorder. "It appears to have been a cheap plot device in order to end the previous chapter with an acceptable amount of tension.

"Blast!" Searcher said. "You mean my eyes were assaulted by that abomination upon the English language for nothing?"

"Afraid so, sir."

"What about the ellipses infestation?"

Carter scanned the immediate area and frowned. "Difficult to say. Can you try an internal monologue?"

_Alright, internal…monologue…oh damn, here they…are…again…should probably…stop now…_

"Yep, they're still there."

Carter nodded thoughtfully. "In that case I think it's safe to assume that, as innocent of a development as they appear, they will later prove crucial to the plot in an unexpected way. That, or become a lame recurring gag."

"In any case, that takes second place to our primary mission," the captain said. "But don't let me forget about them entirely. Once they spread to dialogue, they're almost impossible to eradicate." She shuddered at the far off memory of a Criminal Intent fic in which everyone had spoken as if they were being possessed by William Shatner.

_Couldn't…save them…couldn't stop…the…ellipses, they just kept coming…until, oh God…the characterization collapsed…into a pile of…extraneous…punctuation…_

"Sir? Sir?"

Daystar blinked. "What?"

"You've been staring off into space for five minutes. Are you sure you don't want to deal with this first?"

"No, I—wait, that's it! That's how we can incapacitate the Mary Sues guarding the Deus Ex Machina Cargo Bay! We trigger an inner monologue! It's the perfect plan!" She paused! "Damn! Extra exclamation points! A co-occuring infestation!" She took a deep breath! "Okay! I mean, okay. I think I have it under control!—under control, now."

"While we're in there, we should destroy all deus ex machinas dealing with cures! I mean, cures," Carter added helpfully. "And we should cut communications and drain the fuel supply, to lower the chances of a rescue before they are fully incapacitated."

"Good, good. Any other suggestions, guys?" She turned to Quark and Worf, who despite their misleading and uncharacteristic silence during the majority of the chapter, were in fact still in the room.

"WE SHAL FITE WITH HONNER."

"Well, you can," Quark amended. "I'm going to be quite busy over here studying these…figures."

"Quark, give Carter back her shirtless pictures of O'Neill." Over Quark's sputtering denials, Daystar continued: "Alright, Quark and Parody Worf, it'll be your job to distract the Mary Sues and trigger an introspection each time Carter and I carry out the tasks. We'll start with cutting the fuel."

She started out the door, then stopped. "What do we run on, anyway?"

"Like most ships, sir, we run on a combination of imagination and hormones," Carter explained. "However, over time our main engine needs to be supplemented with a steady stream of feedback."

"Was that a subtle fourth-wall-breaking plea for reviews?"

"Nothing subtle about it, sir."


End file.
